THE EVENING STORY FRAME-UP

Bay of Plenty Times, Volume LXVIII, Issue 13053, 4 June 1940, Page 3

THE EVENING STORY FRAME-UP

l>y Jeanne M’Carthy

Hike Hannon was entering the journal's offices. That designated j )l0 jay as Friday, pay day, because t l,atwas the only occasion when Mike t in a personal appearance at hfs ojßcC Otherwise he hung his hat at t j !e Detective Bureau, where he kept colourful account of the city’s cringes for the Journal's readers. He waited for Friday to arrive, not only because it bought monetary replen- . l ffi ent. but because it gave him an oppotunity to see Ruth Wallace. Rutliio was a reporter on the paper atl fi terrifically sweet. Hike smiled benevolently at the p ]j faces in the Journal's newsroom, took stock of the new ones, and hunted up Ruthie. She was talking to a

stranger. ‘'Mike,” she greeted warmly, “nice to see you- How are things at the bureau? Ho you know our new rewrite man, Bucky Wilson? YouT , )e talking to him hereafter when ton call in your stories.” ' Mike smiled affably.- “Too bad abo ut old Ham. Hope he'll be okey ‘ oon . He was a sweet re-writer—-and that’s an admission. I don’t think much of qny of them.” He grinned again. “Ruthie, let’s eat together to-night.” “Sorry, Mike.” she said. “Bucky’s a stranger in town and I’ve promised to shQW him the sights to-night.”

Mike called Bucky once during the

next few days with a yarn about Danny Cohan’s run-in with the police. Cohan was a minor New York playboy who came to town to recuperate from incessant alcoholic saturations and proceeded to make the police station complaint, books on a 4210 count—drunk and dis-

•orderly. After Bucky took the details, he added: “Mike, I hope I didn’t cut in on anything the other, night. Between you ahd Ruthie, I mean-” Mike laughed. “That’s all right. Tv no claim on the girl. All’s fair, I guess.”

Bucky wrote the story and laid it across the city editor’s desk. Later, 1 Rasmussen checked the rival papers. He observed that the News and World had Danny Cohan’s name spelled with an “a,” while, the Journal carried it Cohen. He called to his desk. “How come,” he asked,

"That’s the way Mike spelled it,” explained. “I’m no mind reader.” ■

The editor contacted Mike in the P'essroom at the bureau. “Rasmusspeaking,” he said- “How do you Danny Cohan’s last name?” He waited a moment. “How did youSh’e it to Wilson?” There was anI other pause. Then he hung up and t'hued to Bucky. “He spelled it '''Hh an ’a,’ and he said he gave it t' l you that way. You’ve got to be Dlore careful,” he added meaningly. Bl wky frowned as he returned to lis desk.' At lunch, he told Ruthie ''they lunched together most noons, aa *i dined with each other a surprises number of evenings. “I think,” e finished, “your little friend is tryto frame me.” Ruthie became cool. “That’s not ( - she defended. “Mike isn’t built lor * don’t think much of you Hth maki " § a statement lik © that, 1 ' a^e a * :e - kas tity- ‘‘l’m afraid : men* 1 al>le to keep our appointi up,,' to-night. Something’s come 6 took her check as she left. &. still Brucky shrugged. T I h 0 ° n t trus t him. For your sake, J Th j Vvtl wrong.” 3 it “ gs were inexorably quiet, and Bti ck lwo duys before Mike and ll th talked again. Then it was dio ren &C Meicier story. Jac was k UtC< * k° SS °t the underworld, ■A We re llo%n by his clothes, which 1 Plea Sait orial delight, and his wo- j ’ 10 were a n optic delight. He

, Rasmussen liked Mike, “Why?"’ he questioned. He wasn’t surprised nor shocked; he knew people went haywire every now and then. “It’s a personal matter, RasThanks for everything.” He walked from the newsroom.

“Wilson,” Rasmussen ordered, "rewrite this.” He tossed him a piece of copy.”

Ruthie interrupted, staccato jabs at the typewriter. “Is there any more of th© town I can show you? she asked.

Two men vie with each other for the favour of a girl but one oversteps the bounds of sportsmanship j ' niL.ar-Bggggsc’—■ u — j.i.:. u .. '

committed suicide shortly after he had been aquitted of numerous felonies. Apparently, there was no reason for it.

It made a good story, and Bucky wrote it well. He really could write. After the Journal had gone to press, a copy hoy thrust the News and World on Rasmussen’s desk. Both carried accounts of the story, which differed painfully from that in the Journal. Rasmnssed cited Bucky. “There is no mention in our story of a note left by the dead man. The News and World have prinje'd in full.” Rasmussen was having a hard time keeping his . composure. The situation Avas sufficient to destroy any man’s composure. “What about it? We also do not indicate that the suicide was part of a pact, or that his girl friend is in a serious condition from the poison.” Bucky was bewildered. “Mike didn’t give it to me,” he said. “I’ve heard that before,” Rasmussen snapped. “Mike is no dummy. Besides 1 don’t think it’s possible for one man to miss as much as that in one story.” He called the bureau. “Mike,” he preambled. “Rasmussen.’ Did you tell Wilson anything about a suicide pact or a suicide note?” He listened. “Wilson says you didn’t.” He listened again, and then hung up. “Mike claims he

gave you the entire story, and that

he has his notes to prove it. - jHe -also said this isn’t the first time you’ve muffed stories he’s given you. You’ll have to see the cashier, Wilson. Sorry.”

B’ucky .'was white with rage. “He’s a liar! He’s framed me, and I’ll prove it,”

Rasmussen returned to his' work. Bucky met Ruthie as he left. "Sorry you’re going,” she said. He spoke, quietly. “I’ll show you the. kind'of man your pal is. You know why he did it, don’t you? It’s because of you. He cares for you, and he’s guessed, that I do too.| Stick around. You ought to be in on the finish.” He brushed past her.

Exactly what formed the field of battle ,is questionable. That there was a battle was evidenced later when Bucky and Mike returned to -the office. Their eyes were black, and Mike’s clothes were in shreds. Mike walked to the city editor’s desk. Bucky was beside him. “He’s right,” Mike confessed, “I framed him.”